


Stakeout Makeout

by Spidergwenstefani



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Stakeout, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 19:12:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spidergwenstefani/pseuds/Spidergwenstefani
Summary: “It’s getting pretty cold, huh?” Clint says, rubbing his arms.“It’s your fault for coming here in a uniform with no sleeves,” Bucky says, like he doesn’t eye up Clint’s biceps every time he wears said uniform. Clint grunts and glares at the leather jacket lying at Bucky’s feet, completely available and probably still holding some of that supersoldier body heat.AKA Clint's mad that he's on a stakeout and not a date. Bucky doesn't knowwhathe's on.





	Stakeout Makeout

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to kangofu_CB for the fantastic title. Just. Your mind.

“It’s getting pretty cold, huh?” Clint says, rubbing his arms and not bothering to suppress the shiver that runs through him. LA in February isn’t nearly as rough as New York, but once the sun goes down it’s not exactly balmy, plus the lip of the roof he’s perched himself on is all ice cold concrete. An hour or so more of sitting here and Clint’s ass will be as numb as his fingers. Bucky doesn’t look up from where he’s cleaning his rifle. Who the hell brings a spare sniper rifle to a stakeout just to clean while they wait? Bucky Barnes, that’s who.

And the whole _stakeout_ thing. What the fuck is that about? Sure, it’s not like they’re... what? Going steady? or whatever the hell Bucky would call it. Still, a couple team-ups that end with back-alley blowjobs, a few hookups, some movie and pizza nights scattered in between. It had to count for something. The kind of something that would perfectly justify Clint coming to a different goddamn conclusion when Bucky texted him an address and told him to show up on February fourteenth.

“It’s your fault for coming here in a uniform with no sleeves,” Bucky says, like he doesn’t eye up Clint’s biceps every time he wears said uniform. Clint grunts and glares at the leather jacket lying at Bucky’s feet, completely available and probably still holding some of that supersoldier body heat.

“Well, I didn’t know we’d be here _all night_ ,” Clint grumps. Bucky snorts, still not looking up from his gun.

“You sound like a twelve year old.”

“You sound like an asshole.”

Bucky looks up at that, probably because it’s a shade too harsh to be their usual banter. His brow creases behind the domino mask, like he’s just realized Clint is actively not having a good time.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Clint resolutely does not cave at the genuine concern in his voice. “Is everything okay with the team? Kate doing okay?” And fuck. That does get him a little bit.

“Kate’s fine. The team is… a bunch of children, but they’re fine. I guess I’m getting a taste of my own medicine after what the twins and I put Cap through back in the day.” Clint shivers again, and this time Bucky notices.

“Yeah,” he says, wiping his hands off on his pants before scooping up his jacket. “Kid sidekicks are the worst, right? Dunno why anyone bothers with ‘em.” There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Clint doesn’t want his eyes to catch on it the way they do. He doesn’t want to spend his already shitty night pining over some guy who doesn’t care enough to bring him shitty candy, at _least._

Bucky sits down on the roof ledge, leaving a good foot of space between them. Clint tries to fixate on that, but then Bucky is reaching over, enveloping him in super soldier warmth for just a moment as he wraps his jacket over Clint’s shoulders. It’s heavy. There’s probably layers of kevlar under the leather and it smells like gunpowder.

“You weren’t busy tonight,” Bucky states. He still has the domino mask on. There’s a billboard for a plastic surgeon hovering over this city block, and it’s throwing neon pink light over Bucky’s face, exaggerating how much the mask really hides.

“What else would I be doing?” Clint says, a little petulantly. Bucky doesn’t answer, instead turning to glance at the window they’ve been keeping an eye on. The mark still hasn’t shown up. Clint can’t even remember who it is they’re supposed to be watching for.

“Thought you’d have a hot date, maybe,” Bucky says, still staring at the window. Clint pulls the jacket tighter around him, wondering if he’s reading this right.

“Well, I do now that you called.” He bumps Bucky’s shoulder with his own, using the momentum as an excuse to scoot a little closer, to press their legs together as they dangle them off the rooftop. The corner of Bucky’s mouth starts tugging into a smile again, and Clint’s pretty sure the pink in his face is from more than just the weird lights.

The sounds of LA at night replace their conversation. Car horns, music spilling out from windows and storefronts. Clint almost thinks he hears Bucky start to talk a few times, but it’s hard to catch over the noise. He’s also trying very hard to stay cool and aloof, and not sneak furtive glances at the way the streetlights are making Bucky’s hair look soft and golden.

“What kind of flowers do you like?” Bucky says suddenly. He blurts it out in a rush, and Clint stares at him for a moment while he tries to parse out what exactly the question was.

“Um,” he says. “I- purple ones, I guess. Violets? Daisies are nice.” He’s never thought about it much before. He’s never been _asked_ before.

“What about roses?” Bucky asks, flicking a piece of gravel off the ledge and watching it clatter down the side of the building. “Because the corner store was only selling roses today, and I just- I didn’t know if you liked them or not.”

Clint just stares at him. He doesn’t even notice he’s let the moment lapse into silence until Bucky turns to look at him.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, his shoulders slumping in a way that’s barely noticeable. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Can I take your mask off?” Clint interrupts. “It’s just that, I didn’t bring a mask and I’m kind of having a bitch of a time reading this situation.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, and now the pink in his cheeks is definitely not from the light. “Yeah, okay.”

Bucky’s jacket slips off Clint’s shoulders as he reaches up. He peels the domino mask off, getting weirdly giddy about the way his fingers brush over Bucky’s cheekbones. Jesus christ. He’s had his hand down the guy’s pants behind an In-N-Out before. This shouldn’t be giving him butterflies.

Bucky’s eyes are dark in the odd lighting, and more intense than Clint was expecting. He sucks in a breath as Bucky blinks at him, reaching up to rub a little at his face where the mask had probably been chafing.

“Roses are good,” Clint says finally, and Bucky’s smile starts creeping back again. “Better on special days, though. Anniversaries and stuff. Chocolate is way better for Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says, and his eyes are kind of twinkling in the semi-darkness.

“Yeah,” Clint answers, a little breathless. Bucky leans forward, and for a moment Clint thinks he might be going in for a hug. His next thought is that he’s just about to be shoved right off the roof, but Bucky just gathers up his jacket and pulls it back over Clint’s shoulders. Their faces are inches away. Clint licks his lips and watches Bucky’s eyes drop down to his mouth.

He closes the distance, shuddering at the heat of Bucky’s mouth after shivering for so long in the cool night air. He tries for tongue, tries to press even closer and tangle his hands in Bucky’s hair, but Bucky seems set on keeping the kiss short and chaste. He doesn’t even run his fingers up Clint’s side like he likes to. Instead, he just dips his hands into his jacket pocket, pressing something round into Clint’s hand as he pulls away.

“Are these-” Clint starts to say, his voice getting a little choked up at the sight of holiday-edition pink foil.

“Cadbury creme eggs,” Bucky says, wrinkling his nose in a way that’s so fond Clint loses his breath all over again. “I didn’t know what flowers you liked, but I’ve got your shitty taste in chocolate down.”

“Fuck you,” Clint says gleefully, but he’s already unwrapping one, stuffing it into his mouth whole just to watch Bucky’s face turn from fondness to disgust.

“Well I was going to offer, but now that I see what an _animal_ you are-”

Clint cuts him off with a protesting noise, swallowing his mouthful of chocolate so he can grab Bucky by the front of his uniform and pull him into a properly searing kiss. The jacket slips off his shoulders again, and Bucky buries his laugh in Clint’s neck, nudging him gently backward until he’s lying on the edge of the rooftop. The leather and kevlar underneath him cuts the chill of the concrete, and the billboard lights cast a pink halo around Bucky as he pulls back. He holds Clint in place with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hold on,” he says, his breath a little ragged. “Let me just- I just wanna say it before we-” Bucky’s eyes keep drifting down to Clint’s lips, so he bites them, grinning as Bucky falters in his speech. He slides his leg up to hook around Bucky’s waist, which has the unfortunate effect of getting him talking again. “Will you go steady with me?” he says, and he’s already sliding their hips together, but there’s a sort of worried hopefulness in his eyes like he thought Clint could ever say no.

“I fucking knew you’d call it that,” he says, laughing as Bucky bites halfheartedly at his shoulder. He doesn’t move from there, though, and Clint realizes he didn’t give an answer. “Yes,” he huffs. “Yeah, obviously. Jesus, Buck.”

Bucky runs his fingers up Clint’s side then, rucking up his uniform shirt and making him shiver from the cold. Clint turns his head, baring his neck for Bucky to press messy kisses to, and he lets out a frustrated whine as his eyes land on a window across the street.

“Hey, Buck?” Clint says, swallowing a moan as Bucky nips at his ear. “Our, uh. Our guy is here.”

Bucky groans, pressing his forehead to the concrete by Clint’s head.

“If I just… shoot him in the head. Real quick. Will you let me fuck you after?”

“Probably not, no,” Clint admits, running his fingers down Bucky’s spine as he thinks. He arches into the touch, shifting enough to press a kiss to Clint’s cheek.

“Fuck it,” he says, and Clint can feel his smile against his cheek. Bucky shaved today. “We can’t interrogate him tonight. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Good call,” Clint says, and Bucky presses their lips together again, tugging Clint’s arm away from his back so he can tangle their fingers together.


End file.
